Bride and groom were home now, and Clementine was doing a very good imitation of someone who felt altogether pushed aside in her own house if only to avoid seeing her brother cast in any sort of romantic role. She was Perfectly Pleasant™, of course, but spent little time outside of meals in the common areas of the home, and found as many opportunities to spend time out and about with friends as possible. This latter had been hindered slightly, though, by the stain that the new addition to the family had brought with her when she moved in.

Jemima Greengrass was, to Clementine, a conundrum. She was no longer Miss Farley, that much was clear to all involved parties, but she had never been close enough with the older girl to call her by her given name, and Mrs. Greengrass was both painfully formal and also her Mama's name. And so, she was still Miss Farley much of the time in Clementine's thoughts (and diary), and nothing at all as much as it could be helped out loud.

The Greengrass household was clearly a den of love and togetherness.

She had sat down at the small writing desk in her bedroom to respond to Hermia's letter, only to realize she had left it in the parlour. Resolved, she descended the stairs and listened at the door. Satisfied that no one was in there (and thus, she was unlikely to be roped into conversation), Clementine entered the room only to see that it actually was occupied by her nameless new housemate.

"Oh," she said lamely. After a beat, Clementine added, "you needn't apologize. After all, it is your house now."